A Path of Chance
by Schermionie
Summary: Tom Riddle steps into Knockturn Alley for the first time and gets himself into a bit of a problem: the Vanishing Cabinet in Borgin and Burkes. And whom else should he meet there but Hermione Granger?
1. Foreword

**Summary:** Tom Riddle steps into Knockturn Alley for the first time and gets himself into a bit of a problem: the Vanishing Cabinet in _Borgin and Burkes_. And whom else should he meet there but Hermione Granger?

**This Chapter:** Every action has a reaction, even at a molecular level. But events on a grander scale can have a much more drastic impact - this world splits apart when one Tom Riddle opens a harmless cabinet, living on to become one of the greatest Dark wizards of all time, and the other...?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, any of its characters, places, things et cetera - Joanne Rowling does. Any OCs are mine however, and I would like to think that even though it stemmed from an idea in the books the plot is somehow mine. Many of the inner workings of the Vanishing Cabinet in this story have been made up and expanded from the way the cabinet was presented in the books.

**A/N: **This is just a short foreword to the fic. It has been edited since its first appearance, just to clear a few things up and make small changes to other details. More revised versions of chapters shall follow, in fact chapters two and three are completely done and coming soon!

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_  
Foreword_

_The mysterious artefact that I have long concerned myself with, the vanishing cabinet, can be said to be one of the greatest cruxes of the wizarding world. Rather like the Time-Turner, we know little about it or how it affects nature. What we can be sure of, however, is that if one were to only search, one would almost definitely come across a Vanishing Cabinet; whether it be the mysterious door to a locked room which has not been opened for many years, an ordinary-looking cabinet or perhaps a mirror – this puzzle comes in many shapes._

_This volume is the result of years of research, and, while in some areas it speculates widely, I have tried to keep to the facts. For anyone lost in the cabinet's magic, I hope this book has reached you – you're going to need it._

* * *

_Corridors of closed doors. Twisting, winding, confusing corridors, constantly branching off of each other. So far, she had never strayed along them but kept a straight course, fearing that her increasingly bad memory would forget the direction she had turned. _

_They were all the same, these doors. They held the same… whiteness. No, not whiteness exactly. Nor blankness. Just a cold sort of impersonal demeanour, lifeless yet giving off the impression that they were just as cognisant as she was. _

_She didn't like those numbers. The numbers on the doors. It would have been better had they been in sequence, or even out of it, had they been different, as a marking point, as a way to find her escape. But no. They were all imprinted with the same damn cold number which had shouted out to her mockingly as soon as she had entered this long stretch of blank yet not blank corridors. _

_Because, in a way, this was her room 101. Not the worlds behind the doors.  
_

* * *

The young man glanced sideways quickly before stepping into the shadowed street before him. He had been waiting for this moment for four years, ever since he had gathered sufficient information to understand that his destination's dubious reputation was nothing short of the truth. The street was not one to skip happily into without a wand and a great deal of magical aptitude, for this was not a place which sold unicorn hair or hooves. This was a place which sold unicorn _blood. _

Lips twitching in anticipation, he took a few more steps forward and was instantly overcome by the intoxicating scent of dark magic. If it were anyone else feeling such things it could be put down to imagination, but Tom Riddle could not be said to have any imagination whatsoever. Suffice it to say, he was so immersed in the dark arts that he was slowly becoming one with them, in accordance with their very existence.

His lips stopped twitching, and he composed his face into its normal aloof mask before drawing his coat about him and walking onwards, his large strides emanating complacency. As he approached, people withdrew from his sight, they, too, sensing the dark magic within him.

And as he saw the fear on their faces, Tom recalled his father's still form on the ground before him, and the ghost of a smile graced his lips. Each time – and this happened often – that he recalled his _dear _father's trembling hands and cowardly pleas for mercy he could not help but smile, knowing that he had accomplished what he had been dreaming of for years. Riddle felt as if, just by thinking it, he could achieve anything.

_That's right_, a voice in the back of his mind rasped. _Everything in the world will be yours_, _but not yet. You are not powerful enough at this present time. I need more... more power... power..._

Tom almost scowled, feeling irritatingly impatient but knowing that there was some truth to those words. He would still have to tread carefully. After all, ultimate power could not be achieved instantly; even he would admit that particular limitation, though not out loud or in the company of a Legilimens. Certainly, he could not open the Chamber again while in Hogwarts; indeed, it would be difficult for him to conduct anything illegal under Dumbledore's watchful gaze.

He ceased his stride abruptly outside of a promising-looking shop: paint peeling from the door, windows so dirty there was no way to see the room behind them, doorknob shaped like a serpent and walls inscribed with complex runes. The sign read, '_Fowler's Solutions_'.

_Hmm… an apothecary. Could come in useful… _

He entered the apothecary with some caution, aware that he had no idea of the type of merchandise which would be on display, though to anyone who happened to notice his arrival – no one, the shop appeared to be void of any life – would only see a confident young man who frequented such shady places as _Fowler's_.

As he browsed the shelves, Tom became more and more convinced that, while he would very much like to try making some of the potions that were on display, this shop was a little _too _dubious for the purpose of his visit to Knockturn Alley. Examples of the most mild potions on display did things such as induce Werewolf transformations, enchant a person so that they killed whomever they saw and there was one which, according to the label, caused constant misfortune for the drinker, eventually leading to death. The ingredients on sale were hardly used as herbal remedies, either: asphodel, jobberknoll, aconite, acromantula venom, runespoor eggs… Some, even Tom did not recognise.

No, whatever was here was not suitable for his needs; he would have to try elsewhere. Having decided, Tom took a step towards the door, realising just in time that his progress was impeded by the slightly hunched figure of a man beside him.

"Excuse me, I need to leave," Tom said, unfazed.

"You won't be going anywhere for a while, lad," the man replied, laughing and sending little drops of spit Tom's way. He was a smoker, Tom observed critically.

"There is nothing to keep me here."

"Oh yes there is." The man leaned in further, grinning mockingly. "No one comes into a shop in the Alley without buying somethin'. 'Specially a boy like you."

"My business is over here. Please let me through," Tom said coolly, outwardly calm.

"Don't be so hasty now. It's rude, it is. Don't you want a veela potion? It'll attract the ladies, eh? No?" the man questioned, a light in his eyes. "Then about this little beauty here, eh?" He pointed to a small red bottle on the shelf behind him.

_Either this man is blind or stupid. I really don't have the time or patience for this rubbish. _

Tom drew his wand with practised ease and pointed it to the shopkeeper's sleeve. _Incendio_, Tom thought, and the man instantly caught on fire. His screams followed Tom out of the building. How _irritating_.

_I suppose I'll only have time to look in one more shop now; I'll have to choose carefully_.

Tom passed many establishments, each grimier than the last. Eventually he stopped outside of a shop entitled _Borgin and Burkes,_ which sold dark artefacts. It was the largest establishment he had seen so far, and from what he could see of it it seemed like the sort of place which would suit him perfectly. Something about the atmosphere around this building seemed to call to him. Generally, Tom did not approve of using such a phrase, but in this case it genuinely applied: this place and its contents intrigued him greatly, even without knowledge of the specific items sold there.

The bell screeched as it opened and the door closed with a rather ominous thump. It was dark inside, darker than the apothecary had been, but unlike _Fowler's _a shopkeeper was present. Tom spared him a cursory glance before looking around the room. There were countless dark items scattered throughout the broad space of the shop front: a cursed necklace, several unidentified fragments of bone, assorted body parts and a gnarled hand curled up hideously on a dusty cushion, to name only a few - and this was merely at the _front _of the shop. What nefarious things could be found concealed behind the counter, away from prying eyes?

Spying a book in the far corner of the room next to a large black cabinet, he strode towards it to read the label. It simply said 'diary'. A sudden urge to pick it up and feel its smooth, unmarked cover and pages came over Tom and he reached to touch it. There was a thin layer of dust coating it, and Tom started to draw a 'T' shape through it. The diary seemed to belong to him somehow.

There was a cough from the other side of the room, and Tom looked up to see the shopkeeper looking straight at him.

"Wouldn't touch the items on display if I was you. _Might _be cursed," he chuckled.

Tom felt like saying that he knew this one wasn't, but instead he reluctantly lifted his fingers away. It wouldn't do to argue. He'd seen the price tag, after all, and if he wanted to get all of his school supplies he would have to return to Gringrotts to take some more money from his account. The diary could wait until tomorrow, when he could most probably arrange to return.

"What about this cabinet, is it cursed?" Tom asked, choosing an item at random in order to make his point - that he would touch any item he wanted to - without being overtly hostile or condescending.

"Ah, well, that's, er, not for sale really. It's been passed down through the Burkes family for generations – 'course, I put it up for sale – but it's not working now. No use to you."

Tom frowned. Burkes – presumably this was he – hadn't exactly explained what this cabinet _did_. Sensing that he would perhaps get a better answer if he opened it, he unbolted the door and pulled the handles towards him. The cabinet reeked of dark magic.

In fact, if he concentrated very, very hard, Tom could almost identify the exact type of dark magic being emitted; the cabinet _was _working. Just as he was about to tell Burkes, a strange light began leaking out of the middle of the cabinet, and slowly expanded to reveal a long white corridor. Tom, mesmerised, walked slowly into it, and before he could say anything the doors snapped shut behind him. They would not open.

Burkes, left behind, shrugged and placed a 'For Sale' sign on the cabinet's doors. He went back to work.

**TBC

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	2. Chapter One

**This Chapter:** A boy meets a girl in a one in a billion chance and they (accidentally) begin their journey together.

**Disclaimer: **You know the drill. J.K. Rowling owns HP. I am not J.K. Rowling. The book Hermione mentions in this chapter is "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkein.

**A/N:** Here is the edited version of chapter 2! Hopefully the PoV changes are not too confusing: I tried to make them as clear as possible without using any unnecessary formatting. That just makes it look so messy. Chapter three on the way!

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A day earlier, she had met her first obstacle: a three-way fork. Until then, it had been a straight path from the door that she had entered by to what she supposed must be the exit (because if she didn't believe in an exit, she would have long decided to open a door at random. And she'd seen what had happened when people did that), and she had intended to keep that straight course. It made sense, somehow, and it was the only thought she seemed to be able to hold on to, that and the belief in an exit. And how hungry and thirsty she was and the thought that maybe she would never see anyone even remotely familiar to her ever again. . .

Keep going straight, keep going straight, that had been the only thought on her mind recently. She had learned how to ignore hunger, to ignore the thirst so great it took an effort to even breathe.

The supplies in her well-packed bag would not last for long.

The way _everything_ exhausted her mind and body in this place, she could barely hope to keep going for much longer. But for some reason, the middle path in the fork didn't look entirely pleasant to her. Perhaps it led to an exit, but not one she would like to use. Her predicament reminded her of a Muggle book which she had once read. She'd forgotten the name – something about rings.

For possibly the first time ever, Hermione Granger was not comforted by the thought of literature. It made her remember home, or what memories of it that remained with her. And the characters in that book had chosen the right path; she knew she probably wouldn't.

Tom didn't know where he was, and it unsettled him. Tom _always _knew _exactly _where he was; clever research and planning were his specialities. He hated going into a situation not knowing anything about it.

All in all, Tom wasn't confident. And Tom _really _disliked not being confident.

What had the character in that book said when he couldn't work out which way to go next? Something about eyes, or… noses. Yes, that was it.

"Always follow your nose," she muttered wearily. "Well, that won't help me much. All I smell is a girl who hasn't had a bath in too long." She gave a little ironic laugh, drowning out the sound of approaching footsteps.

The door, he had discovered after some time, was not going to open. Any spell he could possibly think of to send at it had no effect, although it hadn't been easy to use magic at all. Obviously the place in which he had found himself had some sort of dampening effect on his magical abilities. Obviously, he needed to escape as quickly as possible and he would not be able to do so by travelling the path he had used to enter.

Tom closed his eyes in an attempt to keep calm. He had to concentrate in order to get back to his starting point, which was of course possible. He was Tom Riddle, after all, and dark magic was one of his specialities. This place was full of dark magic… If he hadn't been so unsure of himself, he would perhaps have elected to stay here to study it. If he had time, he could even find his way back to Knockturn Alley to buy the diary and then return to write down any findings.

As it was, he had no way to determine the long-term effects of him being… wherever he was; there could be some danger involved and he was not prepared to risk anything. He didn't know where he was and he hadn't found a way out yet. So he had to concentrate.

_Concentrate… _But it was easier said than done. Whenever he tried to focus properly, he couldn't quite manage it. Thoughts seemed to slip away as swiftly as they occurred to him.

Tom stood up, realising that it would be wise for him to try and find an exit as soon as possible. He looked around, wondering whether to leave it to chance and blindly pick a door or choose a random path. Opening a door seemed a rather daunting prospect. They all looked the same. If he kept walking, he managed to convince himself, he would find a door which looked different to the rest, and that would be his way out. In fact, he might be able to find a way to avoid aimlessly walking around in what could be the wrong direction.

Drawing his wand, he said, 'Point me.' It was a simple, low-level spell which would not drain him of energy as some of his earlier spells had done, but he suspected that it would still work. It didn't.

He placed his wand back into his pocket, irked but knowing that he could not make the spell work if it didn't the first time, and, just as he was about to pick a path at random, he heard a thin voice from a nearby corridor say, "A girl who hasn't had a bath in too long." He had no idea what this could mean, but it was the first thing he had heard apart from his own footsteps since he had entered the cabinet in _Borgin and Burkes_. He quickly strode toward the voice and was confronted with the dishevelled form of a girl. She was laughing and didn't appear to notice him.

Tom almost didn't believe she was real. At last, someone who might know where he was. Not that he'd let on that _he _didn't know much either. He needed to make this girl think he had the advantage in the situation; then she would do what he wanted her to.

He intended to ask her anything that could be useful to him. But stupidly enough, he must have been more shocked than he would admit. Only one question – one he hadn't intended to ask – came out of his mouth.

As soon as she realised that someone else was there, she stopped laughing. It seemed almost impossible that she meet another person here (she almost believed he wasn't real), and she suspected she had became so weak that he may even be an hallucination, but on the off chance she wasn't seeing something she could at least be polite.

She stood up slowly, shakily. "Who are you?" she asked, at exactly the same time that he did.

They were both unsure of how to answer that question, Tom could tell. What could he say? He observed her critically, and for the first time took note of her attire. She was wearing tight black robes that were ripped in places, and he could see the equally worn black trousers underneath - _A _girl_ wearing trousers? _he thought incredulously, almost stopping his appraisal of her to stare in surprise. A ragged bag slung over her right shoulder, causing the clearly weak girl to be a little lopsided, and a red and gold badge glinted, oddly enough, from her left sleeve; Tom was sure he had never seen that emblem before and it looked as if she worked for some sort of organisation or Muggle charity. But they were, without a doubt, genuine wizard's robes, very similar to ones he had seen in a window in Diagon Alley that very day – or had it been yesterday?

She had never seen him before, she was sure of it, but something about his dark hair and eyes, his handsome features, seemed familiar to her. He was in Muggle dress, but it didn't seem to fit; if she could hazard a guess as to who he was, she would certainly place him in the magical category. How else would he be here?

He wasn't moving.

She wasn't moving.

"Hermione Granger, pleased to meet you," she said suddenly.

"Tom Riddle."

The girl gasped and simply stared at him, wide-eyed.

"How…where?" she said, knowing she wasn't making any sense. But the world wasn't making much sense at the moment anyway. Hermione _knew_ that name. But she could tell this man wasn't even from her time period; he may not have even been from her world. She would not be surprised by such a bizarre concept any longer.

"Do you know the way out?" Tom said, forgetting his original plan of not letting on how little he knew. Hermione Granger's strange reaction was rather disarming, even for him, but he had decided not to ask her about it; the girl was clearly mad, too weak to be of use, so it would be best if he carried on with his original plan and didn't let the conversation drag on. He had no need of a companion. Their interests were not the same.

The girl licked her lips, obviously nervous. "There is no way out," she said softly. "Except… well, except through one of these doors." She bit her lip. "But there's no knowing where they'll lead."

Tom narrowed his eyes. Could he really trust this girl? Did she know as much as he had first thought she might?

_He doesn't trust me. There's no reason for him to. He'll open a door, I know he will, and when the time comes… I think – I think I'll go with him. I don't trust him at all, but I don't think I can do this alone. _

"Harry… Ron…" she whispered sadly.

"I'm sorry?" Tom Riddle said.

"There really is no way out," Hermione said quietly.

Something about the look in her eyes made Tom believe her.

"Then," he said evenly, "I'll just choose a door. After all, if there isn't a way back to my own time (Tom was sure she wasn't from his time, which meant the cabinet allowed people from different time periods to meet), then there might be from where I end up."

"Yes, but–" the girl began.

Tom started to turn the nearest door handle, but before he could open the door fully the girl grabbed his arm and held it tight.

"Wait!" she screamed.

A sudden jolt of feeling – not electricity or anything like they always say it is in books, just emotion – ran up her arm.

Their eyes met.

She realised that they _had_ met, but not _when_.

He realised that they must have met, but he couldn't remember when.

He'd felt this grip before.

She knew the texture of his skin.

He'd seen those fierce eyes.

She recognised the sharpness of his gaze.

She hastily removed her grip, but the feeling did not disappear.

As they stood there, shocked, the door suddenly ripped open, and before they even had time to move a ferocious wind sucked them in. Their bodies were forced together, and they slowly fell into darkness.

Battles, conflict, houses and people burning and screaming in pain. Magic, fear, panic. Portraits painted, ballads sung. The history of an entire world, flashing before her very eyes.

He saw unfamiliar faces, places beyond his imagination. He travelled through areas familiar and yet not familiar, witnessed acts of bravery and cowardice. He saw death; he saw life in all its forms.

Finally, they saw Hogwarts.

And then the darkness overcame them, and they landed on stone, unconscious.

* * *

_Chapter 1_

_What is a Vanishing Cabinet?_

_There is no true answer to this question. As I mentioned in the short foreword to this document, its physical appearance varies. There are many known appearances of Vanishing Cabinets, yet knowledge of them is fairly little, and we cannot be sure how many there actually are. A Vanishing Cabinet itself was originally a cabinet of some kind enchanted with vanishing magic, but there have been discoveries of cabinets which take other forms, both externally and internally.  
_

_This brings me on to the matter which this book studies most of all: the internal aspects of a cabinet. From my extensive research, I have gathered that the inside of a cabinet is not always the same; that is to say, one can merely become stuck in the cabinet for a short period, or even stuck in it forever. There are very few records of instances in which a person has entered the cabinet, and even fewer where a person has returned. However, it has been known to happen, and there is a similarity in all these cases. Either the cabinets come in a pair and one can travel directly through them (this phenomenon shall be explored in later chapters) or a person has simply 'drifted' between different cabinets before arriving back in its own world._

_Then there are those few who are not originally from this world and have turned up here after entering a cabinet in their own world. I have only heard of this occurring once; however, I was fortunate enough to locate this person and we talked at length. The traveller described the cabinet's interior to be that of a large maze of corridors full of innumerable entrances, each leading to a different place and time. _

_Unfortunately, my informer could not remember much more of the journey here, and our interview was forced to end. However, the account I was given – whether it is entirely factual or not – certainly helped me to understand the workings of my subject of study. _

_For anyone wondering why they have never come across a vanishing cabinet, it may also be of interest to note that it does not always function as it should – occasionally the cabinet may cease to work. Perhaps it is possible for the magic working on these cabinets to weaken or decay, making them unstable and 'broken'. It is not clear why this should occur.  
_

_Chapter 2_

_Cabinets come in pairs_

_As has already been mentioned, cabinets are often found in pairs. That is to say, they both exist in the same universe and in the same form. However, Flamel's Theory states that it is possible that there are groups of three or more linked cabinets..._

**TBC**_  
_

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	3. Chapter Two

**This chapter:** The travellers arrive at their stop, close shaves are had, Tom isn't as clever as he thinks he is and Hermione gets attacked by rabid sheep. Really.

**Disclaimer:** There once was a young man by the name of Steven. He was a loner - a ruffian, some might say (and indeed they did, for Steve was in many scrapes during his youth) - and quite content to do his own thing. One day, having grown up, he set out to travel the world and see new things, to find answers to questions he had pondered since he were a lad. What is marmalade? Why did the chicken cross the road? Who owns Harry potter and many of the things in this chapter?

And finally, after many years, he found those answers. But by this time he was old and weary of life, and he knew that he may not last to write this information down. So he entrusted the information to another that came across his path at that very moment, a travelling pasta saleswoman by the name of Schermionie, in order for her to tell others of his knowledge. And the name, the answer to that last question, was this: J.K. Rowling.

**A/N:** I'm real sorry for the long wait guys. Hopefully this chapter will be worth the wait, and even more hopefully I will get faster now I've got this one done. **Just to note, the past two chapters have been edited too so you may wish to go over them again.**

**Thanks to:** Kako, for not only beta'ing the chapter but making this story a thousand times better, for being awesome, and for motivating me even while dealing with my persistent procrastination. I can't thank you enough! Also to my readers, who have done many of those things for me, too. But now, on with the chapter! Huzzah!

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Hermione groaned loudly, stirring from the dazed state she had literally fallen into. With the image of the third-floor corridor still in her mind, she slowly opened her eyes, guarding them instinctively from the flickering torches adorning the walls above her head. They were reflected right back by the glass-paned windows across from her, contributing to her terrible headache and the dizziness that had started again as soon as she awoke. When her head cleared a little and the world righted itself again, she realised that this was indeed the third-floor corridor of Hogwarts, though she wasn't sure how that could be true. It was... colder than she remembered, in more ways than one. Hermione hadn't seen this place for so long, so perhaps it had just changed since she had been wandering along those damn corridors - maybe it had been _years_, meaning that Voldemort must have won the war already, meaning that, meaning that...

Meaning that something was not right. Potentially, a great _many_ things weren't right.

Forcing herself to ignore the desire to wait for someone else to sort the problem out, she stood up shakily but instantly had to slump back down again, waiting for the almost blinding dizzy spell to dissipate. Her time in the cabinet had not been good for her health, so rather than risk wearing herself out further Hermione decided to focus on her more immediate needs. Taking her last remaining water bottle gingerly from her bag, she drank half of it in one go, and instantly felt better for it. Then, she carefully pushed it back inside and quietly observed her surroundings from her place on the cool stone floor. On first sight one might think this corridor was exactly the same as the third-floor corridor before Dumbledore had fallen, but it _wasn't_... Somehow, she knew it wasn't.

As the pain in her head increased, Hermione gave up straining her eyes against the torchlight in order to focus her attention on what had happened to bring her here. After being stuck in those endless corridors for so long, her memory and concentration deteriorating, Ron being – what was that sound? For a fleeting moment, she could have sworn someone nearby was groaning. Glancing hurriedly round and feeling slightly better for the break, she berated herself for having not noticed beforehand. A little further up the corridor the man she had met only moments ago lay face down on the stone floor, and it was he who had been making the groaning noise.

Briefly, Hermione considered helping him get up, but something told her he wouldn't appreciate her efforts. So she waited, too exhausted to move much more herself.

Riddle moaned again and started to move. Just as shakily as she, he lifted himself up and rested against the tapestry behind him showing Hogwarts being built, blinking back the after-effects of his unconsciousness.

"Are you okay?" she whispered softly, afraid of making too much noise until she was sure they were safe.

Riddle's head whipped round at her question; he didn't seem surprised to see her, but neither did he look pleased. "Why do you ask?" he said distrustfully, though just as quietly as she had done.

Annoyance welled up inside her and Hermione had to force down the bitter urge to take out all her stress on a stranger, the feelings of panic and loneliness slowly growing the longer she could not express them. She had to force down the bitter urge to give up and forsake the one thing she had vowed to do in that place above all else.

Keep going.

"I'm fine." Tom shook his head and stood up, looking at her reproachfully as if to tell her not to say anything else. "And I don't need your concern, either.

"Now," he said after a slight pause, having turned his attention to a nearby, unremarkable cabinet - the one they must have come through, of course. It was a comment more to himself than to her, and Hermione saw that, in the face of this new mystery, Tom had all but drowned out everything else in order to focus on the object of his curiosity. The former Gryffindor shuddered, wondering what it would be like if he were to look at _her_ like that.

"Identical," the dark-haired teen murmured, handsome features twisting with intrigue. Wishing she could examine it herself but without the strength to do so, Hermione could only watch as he reached for the handles, which were slowly giving way...

Then, abruptly, they stopped after shifting mere centimetres. Try as he might, Tom could not prise them open further, so, satisfied that touching the cabinet could do him no harm, the Slytherin reached for his wand._ After all, _he reasoned_, magic is far superior to brute force._

Noticing the direction of Tom's hand, Hermione felt a terrible numbness come over her. Dazed as she had been by her time in the cabinet, she still had not passed up the perfect opportunity to swipe Riddle's wand from his pocket to replace her own forsaken one - just as the door to Room 101 opened. _I can't let him find out,_ she thought, frightened and exhilarated at the same time.

Trusting now that she could make a passable attempt at walking, she stood up and took a few steps towards Tom, racking her mind for something to say to distract him; but all that filled her head was nonsense that would do no good.

Unfortunately, she was too late to stop him from discovering that his wand was not where he had put it, and intervening now would make her seem even more suspicious, so she could only watch as he searched the floor with his sharp eyes. When Tom looked up again, increasingly agitated, she pretended to have been helping him to find the wand, though she didn't know if her act was at all credible. She never had been that convincing an actress.

"My wand," Tom muttered darkly, interrupting the former Gryffindor's thoughts. "Where is it?"

And, without warning, Hermione felt herself sympathising with the device which had brought them there, for Tom was now examining her just as intently as he had the Vanishing Cabinet upon first seeing it. _Not that the cabinet is_ conscious_ or at all aware of its surroundings: it's not as if it can feel at all, because that would be just plain silly,_ Hermione mused, momentarily lost in her strange train of thought.

Tom blinked as he withdrew his consciousness from the girl's mind, satisfied that she knew nothing of his missing wand. Not much time had been necessary to determine this - after all, she was considering whether the Vanishing Cabinet was _sentient_ or not. But that would be just plain silly. Still, the reaction Tom had felt as he entered her mind had been rather unsettling. It had been almost as if it automatically rejected his presence... he had not been welcome there.

Furthermore, using Legilimency on her had been all too similar to that brief moment they had experienced inside the cabinet right before they were whisked away to here, and what with his wand missing and this situation being so strange he really did not want to dwell on that; yet he couldn't help wanting to examine this new mystery, too.

Miss Granger made the decision not to do so for him by reaching shaky arms to the handles of the cabinet and pulling them as far as she could. Once again, the doors shifted slightly, but it wasn't long before they stopped altogether.

"Your wand?" Tom asked perfunctorily.

Hermione shook her head wearily. "I can't find mine either."

_Well,_ thought Tom, relieved, _at least she has no advantage over me._

_Glad that's over..._ The cleverest witch of her age sighed, shaking her head with clear frustration and gazing at the cabinet in much the same way that Tom had earlier: curiously. She shuffled back lightly, suddenly feeling stifled. If the doors opened partly when they tried by themselves, what would happen if they both pulled together? Would their combined force be enough to open the doors completely?

It was certainly worth a try. Would Tom see that? His manner changed so often she didn't quite know what to think of him - unstable was the word that came to mind. She was naturally wary of him, hated how she knew she had heard his name before - that it was_ important_ - but couldn't remember why this was so.

"Tom," she ventured tentatively, throat closing up with the words. "Should we pull the handles together?"

Tom merely nodded without any malice, however. "It's the logical course of action, under the circumstances," he said diplomatically, and Hermione fought the urge to ask him about his sudden change of attitude. But this was what she wanted and she had no intention to jinx whatever good will they might have toward each other, so when he placed his hand on one handle she did the same with the other, and they started to pull.

There was a sudden sort of magical shimmer in the air, almost as if the magic of the cabinet knew what they were doing and approved, and, after a second or two of effort, it finally opened.

But it was not what they had expected. The cabinet was not the one they had come from, but an ordinary cabinet, with a few empty, dusty shelves to one side and a large space for some items on the other. Completely empty. Completely ordinary. Completely not what they had hoped for.

It seemed that, just as the doors they had came through in the cabinet had sealed themselves off, this route of exit was forever closed to them. Or at least, it was at present.

They stared at this in silence, unsure of what to say. Tom was the first to recover, mentally preparing himself for the situation he now found himself in with his usual swiftness.

Hermione, quite surprisingly in Tom's opinion, followed his example soon after. She still felt as if she were on the verge of a nervous break-down, but she couldn't let herself give up. All those times at school, and even mostly after then, Hermione had had her two best friends by her side to calm her down when she got a little frazzled in a crisis. _But there's no wood!_ she thought, smiling bitterly. Now they weren't here... well, it would fall to her to stay calm and collected, especially with Tom Riddle by her side. Whoever he was, she sensed that he was not to be crossed. She felt his appraising eyes on her and resolved not to give him anything to go on.

Even as Hermione came to this decision, a voice in her head screamed at her to stop, screamed what she had known instinctively since she found herself here.

The doors had been right. _This_ was her Room 101.

"We should leave," she said simply, almost daring Tom to defy her. He did not oblige, did not give her a suitable outlet for her current feelings. She grit her teeth for a moment before making herself relax. "But first, we'll need to find somewhere to lie low for a while. This place," here Hermione paused, uncertain of how many details she even remembered, before shaking her head and continuing, voice still low, "... it's not where I came from. There's no telling where we are, and we need to get out of here without alerting anyone to our presence. I... don't know how long I can go on without substantial amounts of food and water, or rest." The last part she had not meant to say aloud, but there was no way she could take it back now when it was so obviously true.

Tom stared at her for a few seconds, and she fought the urge to fidget under his all-seeing eyes. She felt as if he were some great predator, and she his prey. Then, amazingly, he nodded considerately, saying, "You're quite right. Do you know where we are, approximately?"

She took a deep breath, fighting back the fatigue threatening to envelop her. "I think so. We're - in Hogwarts." She thought that he may, at least, have heard of the school. He was a wizard, at any rate. "The third floor, it looks like."

Tom nodded briefly, as if he had been expecting such an answer all along. This had been a test. "So the question isn't quite _where_, but _when_..." he murmured to himself before smiling charmingly at her. Hermione shivered, not being drawn in by his demeanour at all.

"It seems as if we both know our way around," she said lightly, forcing herself to smile in much the same way. "And no one appears to be here-"

"- There are people here," Tom interrupted, looking as if he were very sorry for the intrusion but had had to make it anyway. "Those windows were recently cleaned, though not very well," he explained, without even checking behind him for confirmation.

"Oh," was all she could think to say. "Well in that case-"

"- We will need to find a way out of here without being caught, correct?"

She nodded stiffly, annoyed at his assumed habit of interrupting people.

"And to do this, we'll have to plan an escape route-" Tom continued, before Hermione played him at his own game, making him frown irritably like a baby whose favourite toy has just been confiscated.

"- Which will be difficult, as it might take some time and within that time period there is a high likelihood of being discovered, in which case we would have to prepare a cover story and an explanation for how we came to be here and such an explanation would probably not hold up under proper scrutiny, which would almost certainly take place!" she said in one breath, not wanting to give Tom a chance to barge in again. "So-"

"- We must first find a place to hide, where we will remain un_interrupted_ and un_disturbed_ until we are ready to leave. It must be a place within easy reach of a safe exit route, preferably a _short cut_ through which no one will be in the position to _break off_ our plans. Do you agree?"

_Git,_ thought Hermione, attempting to smile sweetly up at him. _I was about to make that point!_ "Completely, Tom. We've been here too long already. Do you have anything in mind?" she asked leadingly. However, before he could even open his mouth, she cut in with,

"I know the perfect place," and flicked her hair back in a rare self-important gesture, though Tom could tell it was taking her a lot of effort just to stand up. "So if you'd just follow me..."

"Of course," Tom acquiesced cordially, biting back the smirk threatening to spread across his face.

It was only when she had started to lead him quietly through the corridors of a Hogwarts that was not Hogwarts that he allowed himself time to gloat, knowing that soon this girl would know how big a mistake she had just made.

Because this was what he'd wanted all along.

* * *

_Chapter 3_

_Time-Turners - A Comparison_

_If you have read the foreword to this book you will know that Time-Turners have been previously mentioned here, and be sure to know that it shall not be the last time. To give you, my reader, a more detailed perspective on the cabinet and its many facets, I have included a comparison to this well-known and possibly linked device here._

_Time-Turners are, as you are probably aware, devices one uses to go back in time. They are curious objects, generally reliable but always with the chance to present difficult situations and malfunction when used. This malfunctioning does not happen nearly as often as has been reported in relation to Vanishing Cabinets, but the phenomena are still similar enough to be considered interrelated. The evidence of 'broken' Time-Turners has led some experts to believe that these two magical devices have related magical origins. They are structurally dissimilar, but in regards to their effects and eventual disrepair they are associated enough to be of importance to this text._

_I hesitate to use opinion in a document which has no place for fiction, but unfortunately much of my research is unconfirmed and personal opinion, as this is not a very well-researched field. It would take personal research and experience with Vanishing Cabinets to gain a better understanding of this elusive device, to form one's own perspective. I can only offer my own findings to you, in the hopes that they will be as illuminating to you as they were to me._

_Thus, I will state it here: from the information I have gathered, either myself or with the help of Ministry of Magic employees, I have formed the conclusion that Time-Turners and the Vanishing Cabinets are based upon the same type of magic - a powerful magic that harnesses that which rips realities apart. This may sound fantastical, but I shall explain it in more detail in the future: this chapter will focus more on the strict set of rules which govern both devices, and their similarities._

_Before a Time-Turner can be acquired legally, the purchaser must be made aware and bindingly agree to the official laws pertaining to their usage. The first of these rules is: you cannot change time. Never, ever attempt to distort the time-line. The second of these rules is simply that you can never be seen, by anyone, when using a Time-Turner. The consequences of meeting oneself are terrible, and imagine a person's confusion over seeing someone who is logically elsewhere. Time-Turners must be kept secret from those who are not involved in them, from those who do not know and understand these rules and their implications if broken._

_Vanishing Cabinets, however, do not have any such rules, officially speaking. They are not exactly purchased, either - generally, it is understood that the Vanishing Cabinet must be enchanted by the owner of said cabinet before it can function as more than a mere cupboard, though it may be passed down in a family or attached to a specific location._

_If used to go back in time, which is logically possible if not controllable (as long as the cabinets were invented by the time period you wish to visit), then the same laws are just as relevant. But if one finds oneself in a different universe altogether, things inevitably change. In such a foreign environment, it would be prudent to make allies within that environment, most probably unavoidable. In other universes than our own, is it possible to meet oneself with no consequences? There is no known evidence which proves or disproves any theory in regards to this question. Any person unfortunate enough to meet other versions of themselves must be ready to face what will come._

* * *

Tom would, naturally, call himself an expert at moving around unnoticed. For years he had been studying the art of charming others, making them blind to his misdeeds. Under the eyes of the watchful Albus Dumbledore, however, he had had to move even more stealthily than he knew how; it was imperative that he not get caught by that meddling old fool, and though he was not here now Tom got much the same feeling when Dumbledore looked at him as when this strange, unfamiliar girl ducked behind a statue or cleverly evaded the darkest parts of the castle and the shadowy figures that inhabited them. Hermione Granger knew Hogwarts almost as well as Tom did, and was highly proficient at moving stealthily when she really needed to, even through her considerable fatigue.

Of course, he agreed that falling back to observe things was far more prudent than blindly rushing forward into unfamiliar - and therefore enemy - territory. However, Tom had other motives behind his recent actions. When Granger had her back turned and her attention elsewhere it would be far easier to observe her, to gauge her usefulness as a temporary ally. How much did she know? Was it coincidence that they met, or had something else drawn them together? Had _she_ caused this? And most importantly of all: would she _submit_ to him? She had already proved to be quite easy to manipulate, though she had a strong will and did not seem at all charmed by him... which he would have to work on, if they were to spend much time together at all, a prospect which appeared more and more likely as time passed.

The only place in Hogwarts that Tom could think of that would qualify for what he needed was the room of lost things on the seventh floor he had found not too long ago. It was a most curious room, and very useful after he had discovered more about what it could provide him with. Since this girl obviously knew the school very well he had speculated she may have found the room, too, and he wondered about this as they headed toward the grand staircase leading to the upper floors.

Before they could take more than a few tentative steps in the direction of the staircase, however, Hermione dragged them both back into the cover of the abundant shadows of Hogwarts in the evening, putting her hand over Tom's mouth to stop him from making a sound. Once sure that he understood her actions, the former Gryffindor removed it and tried to quiet the sound of her suddenly racing heartbeat.

Next to her, Tom strained his ears for the faint sound of voices and footsteps growing louder by the second. He closed his eyes to further enhance his sense of hearing and began to catch a few phrases, here and there. Whoever these people were, they obviously were not in very much of a hurry, and he had to bite back his agitation as the voice in his head told him that _he_ _had to do_ something. Sitting back to observe was Tom's strong-point, but more and more lately he felt that ability wavering in times of stress...

"...duty, _again_," they heard one man - or at least he sounded masculine - say, sounding weary of said duty. "If He didn't find it _oh-so_ important-"

"You know, I've been thinkin' 'bout that. If He needs more guys, why not just send us outta here to do some recruitin'? It's no big secret there ain't nothing here to guard. Least I heard, anyway. The Master's just sufferin' from a bit o' paranoia," ventured another man conspiratorially, voice slightly deeper than the first but with a more raspy quality.

"From a_ lot_ of paranoia," the first figure corrected, slumping sulkily - for they were coming into view now, long hooded cloaks inconsistently illuminated by the flickering torchlight lighting their way. Tom felt Granger reflexively shift backwards beside him, moving her bag nervously over her sore shoulder.

"I would advise," interrupted the only figure who had not spoken, haughtily holding its head high in a gesture of perceived superiority, "that you refrain from such dangerous talk. We were chosen by the Dark Lord himself for this honou-"

"_Honour_?" the man slumping against the stone walls cut in disdainfully, at the same time as their companion cackled wildly, though his laugh was not without a hint of nervousness. "What honour is _this_?"

"Granger," Tom whispered sharply, realising that the best time to get past these guards would be right about now, when they were distracted by other matters. She did not react, merely continuing to stare at the three speakers, an odd expression on her face. It was almost as if she were trying to figure something out - what, the Slytherin could not tell.

"_Granger_," he hissed again, this time more persistently. He accompanied the word with a jab to her side that succeeded in waking her from her thoughts. "Do you know them?" Tom asked, eyes narrowed with interest. That comment about a 'Dark Lord' had certainly captured his attention, and if Granger was looking at them like that then it would make sense if she knew them.

Blinking herself back into focus, the girl shook her head wearily. "No," she replied, speaking honestly, though something in her expression warned Tom that she wasn't entirely sure of the answer she had given him, either.

_Never mind_, thought the Slytherin. _I can think on that later. For now, I need to leave before they cease their petty quarrels. There's no sense getting caught up in this time's machinations before I even know where I am._

"The one on the left is more alert than the others," Granger whispered, as if sensing his thoughts. "But there's still no way of getting past them, even if two of them aren't very good guards. We'll have to find another route."

"Do you mind telling me, where, exactly, this room of yours is located?"

"Yes, sorry for not mentioning it earlier..."

_Perfect!_ "No, it's alright. I must admit that I am at fault here. My behaviour earlier was rather out of order, and we haven't really had much time here."

Granger looked at him for a little longer than was strictly polite before nodding and smiling slightly. "Thank you. I'd ask for a truce, but as you said there's not much time. Now," she began, tone intolerably bossy, "It's a room on the seventh floor, not too far from the staircase leading down to the sixth floor and past the statue of Lachlan the Lanky. Do you know it?" She finished with this question then let out the breath she had been holding throughout her explanation. Tom might have been impressed at the practice she must have had to do to achieve such breath-holding powers if such things weren't frowned upon in Slytherin, frowned upon by him.

As it was, he was too caught up in his surprise that she could know about the Room. Some small part of him had suspected it, but to have it verified like this was a different matter entirely. With his usual manner, however, Tom forced it to the back of his mind for consideration when his life _wasn't_ in potential danger.

"No, I didn't," he said, feigning ignorance. "Shall we go now, then?"

The witch nodded. "We passed a suitable passage a little while ago that should still be unguarded. It'll take us the long way round, but there's no real helping that."

With that, they waited until the guards were once again talking loudly and began to tiptoe away, hugging the wall and moving as fast as they dared.

For a moment, they thought that they would get away smoothly, but their ordeal wasn't _quit_e over yet. Shuffling slowly through the darkness made it very difficult to see anything on the floor, and it wasn't long before Tom came across an obstacle - some kind of discarded wrapper that rustled audibly when he stepped on it.

Having slowly quieted down in the past minute or so, the cloaked figures now reclining on the stairs ceased their prattling and squinted through the shadows at the noise. Evidently they had better hearing than Tom had given them credit for.

"Heh, wonder wha' that was?" the raspy-voiced man asked after a moment's pause, without any real curiosity.

The man on the right - who in the darkness actually appeared to be sleeping - sighed mournfully before lifting his head slightly and moaning, "It was probably a snake. Yet _another_ meal lost..."

The figure on the left, who until now had stood ramrod straight and more alert than ever, turned to her colleague at this remark. Tone filled with incredulity, she said, "Don't be _ridiculous_. You cannot eat snakes!"

Tom held back a sigh of relief as the guards once again focused on each other, and the two fugitives started to move again, careful to avoid the object Tom had stood on. As the man in the middle explained that their associate had really weird taste buds and did indeed eat snakes, Tom reflected that it had perhaps been a good thing they had caused a disturbance. They would have been caught if one of the guards decided to patrol, or if the one on the right changed position only ever so slightly.

But there wasn't time to pray that luck would stay on their side, or some other foolish thing like that. They shrank away, getting ever closer to the secret passageway leading far away from them.

And there it was, behind the tapestry depicting some bizarre inferi-like creatures that Tom had never seen before. Rushing in, they both took a moment to calm their erratic breathing before wordlessly heading onwards.

* * *

As luck would have it, this version of Hogwarts differed slightly from Hermione's internal map of the castle in her own world. For one thing, there seemed to be more shadows well-suited to sneaking around in (good thing, too: they had neither an invisibility cloak nor the aid of magic to conceal their presence); and for another, not all the secret passageways led where she expected them to.

In many circumstances this could have been a bad thing, and the passageway she and Tom had just traversed was one such potentially disastrous route. Instead of leading to a different part of the fifth floor as was expected, however, it took them right to the seventh floor, just as they needed it to. It hadn't felt as far and steep a climb as it really was - the magic of Hogwarts, she supposed. Thus it was most surprising when they emerged behind a statue that they were both sure led to a corridor very close to their destination.

Hermione found herself smiling with genuine relief. At last, some luck! Unless the Room of Requirement was elsewhere, or opened differently... Smile fading, Hermione slowly peeked her head around the bulk of the statue, eyes peering over every length of the corridor she could see. Behind her, she felt Tom do the same, using his height to check the area himself.

"All clear," they breathed in unison, and quietly slipped out, Tom following Hermione as she veered to the right.

They continued on in tense silence until they reached the familiar tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy attempting to teach trolls the ballet, and Hermione took a deep breath, gearing herself up for disappointment but at the same time ignoring the nasty voice of panic ringing in her ears. _There probably isn't even a room here you know. And if it's not, where will you go? Oh, I _knew_ you shouldn't have let him open that door!__  
_  
The voice halted, however, when an ordinary door appeared in front of them and Hermione pushed it forward gratefully, her relieved smile wider than before.

A wide-eyed and seemingly both confused and curious Tom closed the door behind them, locking it securely. "Is it always like this?" he asked, gesturing to the contents and décor of the room.

"Well... no. Usually it turns into what you need - it's called the Room of Requirement, you see - but I didn't wish for any beds..."

Tom almost rolled his eyes, evidently struggling not to sneer at Hermione's clear struggle to stay awake now that they were in a safer area. "I see," he replied sharply. "Perhaps you just didn't allow yourself to. You obviously need to sleep."

"Yes. Sleep - would really be good," Hermione agreed vaguely. Suddenly, the adrenaline that had been keeping her going faded from her system; it was all she could do to stagger over to the nearest bed, paying neither the folded pyjamas and hair tie at the end of it nor Tom Riddle any mind before she dropped her tattered bag to the floor and slumped onto the covers, losing consciousness almost immediately.

**TBC**

* * *


End file.
